Chapter 6: The Next Morning
The first gray light of dawn seeped through the cabin’s single window, dust motes dancing in the feeble beams. Kane woke. It was not a slow, drowsy ascent from sleep, but the instantaneous, hyper-alert awakening of a primordial thing. The warmth against his chest registered first. The weight. The rhythm of a heartbeat not his own.
He looked down.
JT was curled into him, back flush against Kane’s torso, utterly pliant in sleep. The boy’s dark hair was mussed against the furs, his face smooth, untouched by the night’s horrors. He looked younger. Innocent. Safe. Protected. The definition of peace.
A cold, sharp clarity lanced through Kane’s core, a shock worse than any holy water.
Fuck.
The memories cascaded in: the scent of hunter-blood and fear in the woods, the thrill of the chase, the moment his eyes locked on the slender, defiant young man with the green eyes. The instantaneous, gut-deep knowing. Mate. Then the sharper, darker recognition—the bloodline. A Thompson. The persistent, buzzing gnats who thought they could bind him. A vicious, prideful joy had surged then. He would take their pride. Their joy. He would fuck their legacy into a whimpering, willing mess.
And he had.
He’d let the boy go in the woods, hadn’t he? A split-second choice. The scent of him, the delicious, terrifying allure of a true mate after centuries of lonely, violent subsistence on scared sacrifices, was overwhelming. Kane knew himself. Knew the pent-up, razor-edged desire coiling in his gut. He’d be rough. He’d be merciless. Let him go. It was a fleeting mercy, instantly overruled by a more profound instinct. The boy was in danger from his own kind, from the forest, from everything. Protect. So he took him. Brought him here. And then, with the confirmation of that hated lineage… the last of his restraint had vaporized.
He’d claimed him. Brutally. Thoroughly. He’d used that tight, young body as a vessel for his rage and his lust and his centuries of solitude, painting the boy’s insides with his seed, marking him with teeth and claws and cock. He’d called him filthy names even as his ancient soul sang mine, mine, mine.
And now the boy slept, nestled into him as if this were his rightful place.
Kane mentally kicked himself. A silent, furious roar echoed in the vault of his skull. He should never have touched him. Not like that. The boy was a spark in his endless dark, a miracle he had no right to corrupt. He was a hunter. His father was coming. A war was coming. JT couldn’t stay. The very essence of Kane longed to keep him, to chain him to this hearth, to fuck him senseless every night until the boy forgot his own name. But that was the beast. The beast had ruled last night.
Now, in the quiet dawn, a different ache emerged. He looked at the peaceful face, the trusting way JT’s body molded against his own monstrous form. It was the most natural thing in the world. And it was an impossibility.
As if sensing the turmoil, JT stirred. A soft sigh escaped his lips, his brow furrowing slightly before smoothing again. He pushed back, just a fraction, seeking more of Kane’s heat in his sleep.
Kane went very still. Every instinct screamed to tighten his arms, to pull him closer, to wake him with his mouth and his hands and start the claiming all over again. He forced his muscles to unlock. He began the agonizingly slow process of extracting himself, sliding his arm from beneath JT’s neck, inching back.
The moment he broke contact, JT whimpered in his sleep, a sound of pure loss, his hand flailing backward as if searching.
Kane froze. The sound speared him. He watched, helpless, as the boy’s fingers brushed empty fur, then curled into a fist. He was retreating from the one thing that had ever felt truly right in his interminable existence, and the mate he’d ravaged was already mourning the loss.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave the space cold.
With a sound of deep resignation, Kane moved back, sliding his arm around JT once more, molding his larger body around the smaller one. JT immediately settled, a contented murmur escaping him as he sank back into deep sleep.
Kane lay there, trapped by his own need, watching the dawn light strengthen on his mate’s face. He had taken their pride and joy. He had fucked him raw and claimed him as a prize of war. Now, he was held captive by the very prize he’d seized, staring at the innocent sleep he’d both created and violated, knowing the fragile peace would shatter the moment those green eyes opened, and the world came crashing back in.
Outside, far off but unmistakable to his senses, came the first electronic whisper of encrypted radio traffic. The faint, organized scent of oiled steel and holy water began to stain the morning wind.
They were coming.
And Kane, the ancient demon, the godlike terror of the woods, held his hunter tighter, committing the feel of him to an eternity of memory, dreading the moment he would have to let go.